


mommy-son museum date

by petasos



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Museums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petasos/pseuds/petasos
Summary: Your name is Davesprite, and currently, you are on a mom-and-son date with Roxy Lalonde.
Relationships: Davesprite & Roxy Lalonde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	mommy-son museum date

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my Homestuck Secret Santa ( @homestuckss ) gift for @defnotamushroom on Twitter! You requested something with Karkat, Feferi, Roxy, or any version of Dave - so I hope this makes your Christmas a little brighter (if you celebrate Christmas, that is. If not: Happy Hannukah, or other holidays I do not know!) 
> 
> Cross-posted on Tumblr.

Your name is Davesprite, and currently, you are on a mom-and-son date with Roxy Lalonde. It’s pretty important to note that you’ve never really been close to Roxy - she’s always seemed to prefer Dave (who doesn’t? He’s the real deal, the person people actually care about, he isn’t some bright orange creamsicle-smelling sprite who turned the vibrancy up to 100.) You’re close to Dirk, sure, and Rose depending on her mood, but not Roxy. She’s the one family member who’s attempts to get to know you have been pretty slim.

So, yeah: you’re on a mom-and-son date. If it was Rose and Dirk, it’d be daddy-daughter, so maybe it’s mommy-son for you, but that just sounds like something N-S-F-W. And you’re not even into that kind of stuff, so what does it matter?

Roxy has you pinned, pretty much. Maybe it’s from knowing Dave so well, but she knows you like museums even though you’ve never mentioned it. Sure, you and Dave gossip like two old ladies, and you’ve told him all about your love for all things historical, especially bones. But suffice to say, you’ve never told her.

“Look,” Roxy says, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the hall. You float along after her, embarrassed (due to all the eyes looking at you, mainly.) “Look, look, see, that’s a bonafide Van Gogh painting! Jeez, I cannot believe they SAVED that.”

“Oh yeah,” you say, fixing your gaze on a well-refurbished rendition of _Bulb Fields_ , more colorful than ever, “they fixed ‘em up a couple hundred years back, started putting some of his surviving paintings on display. Guess the Condesce cared ‘bout art or somethin’.”

Roxy rolls her vivid pink eyes (in another universe, Dave probably inherited those, and thusly you did too.) “I don’t think Condy cared about anyfin.” She giggles at the pun, her smile twisting up on one side, surveying the Van Gogh paintings along the brown-painted wall. “DS, these are fucking marvelous, how the heck did I not know these things were ‘round here? This entire place is fan-fuckin’-tastic.”

You shrug noncommittally. You know it’s noncommittal because that’s what Jade would’ve said. 

Your Jade. Not this timeline’s Jade. She never said that.

“O-K,” and she says each word individually, “why don’t we like, go grab food? They got a restaurant here, wanna do that? Can you eat?”

“Yeah, it just doesn’t do shit to me physically.”

“Neat-o,” says Roxy, pursing her lips together, before intertwining her fingers with yours and pulling you back down the hall, away from the Van Gogh portraits (you stare fondly back at _Sunset at Montmajour_.) “Okay, okay, that’s like, one floor down, let’s go, vamanos!”

Honestly, you don’t know how you got so into art. Dave prefers the bone aspect of history, getting down to the nitty-gritty, digging up graves to reveal facts some would prefer left hidden. He’s gone to dig sites with Aradia, left behind his husband for weeks before returning, excitedly showing off the things he found before they’re mysteriously and anonymously donated to a museum in the need of something new to draw people in. Yet you can tell Van Gogh from Monet, and as cool as bones are, your nails are too sharp to actually help out on that side.

So maybe that’s why you got into it.

An elevator ride later (Troll Katy Perry playing over the speakers), Roxy pulls you into the museum restaurant, right next to the little gift shop proclaiming ‘Half Off Snow Globes!’, her eyes sparkling with delight as she surveys the menu.

“Hmmmm, whatcha think, Davey-boy? I’m in the mood for sandwiches, what ‘bout you?” She leans onto the counter, relaying her order to the teenager behind it, slapping down a fresh 20 and grabbing a shrink wrapped brownie to add to it. “Soup? Salad? Maybe a nice hot cuppa? Damn, Jakey’s rubbin’ off on me.”

You shrug. “Soup sounds fine, whatcha got?”

“Broccoli cheese,” drones the cashier, “potato leek, chicken and rice, french onion, clam chowder. It’s from cans, though.” God, he’s monotone, sounds like he’s reading aloud his will. “Comes with crackers or a piece of toast.”

“Broccoli’s fine,” you say, and your voice cracks a little at the end. The benefits to constant puberty win out once again - being sprited at thirteen has it’s downfalls, and the biggest one is the fact that you sprited during the voice-breaking, acne-filled, growth spurt time, AKA every boy’s greatest dream. Wait, did you say dream? You mean nightmare. Sure, slowly, over the past few years, that’s seemed to fade away, and you caught a few wisps of hair on your chin, though they felt more like feathers to the touch.

“Oooh, I might steal a lil,” says Roxy, punching you lightly on the shoulder. “Brad, hey, hey, Brad. This is my son, DS, he’s single -”

You groan, your face heating up.

The cashier, apparently named Brad, ignores her, and rings up the total, handing her a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich, and you a bowl of soup. It smells… better than expected, so you grab a plastic fork and float over to find a place to sit, leaning over the table so your wings don’t get in the way. As cool as they look to little kids, they’re not fun to sit down with.

Roxy plops down on the seat across from you. “This shit’s like, nasty, but in a good way, holy crap. The brownie, though? Damn, I gotta like, buy eighteen of these and stockpile ‘em.”

“You stockpile food?”

“Yeah,” she says, snickering, “who doesn’t? Okay, okay, my therapist, she says that’s not normal, but tee-bee-aich, what does she know? I spent my first sixteen years with basically no food, ‘course I’mma keep stock now. I got a whole pantry filled with soup cans. Those like, never go bad. When they start to, I make soup and replace!”

You do that too. Maybe you have more in common with her than expected. “Aside from… stockpiling soup… what do you like to do nowadays?”

Roxy grins at you, before taking a bite of her sandwich. Once she’s swallowed, she grins again. “Well, I do paint-by-numbers. I keep my elite hackz goin’. I go out with Fef, ‘cause she’s my mate and all. Hell, sometimes she and Janey and me go out on triple dates! Perks of polyamory - I should like, write a book called that. Oh, and I drag D-Stri outta his cave every so often, ‘cause it’s good for him to like, get sunshine on his skin. He’s pale as snow, and that ain’t good. ‘least Dave takes after me - maybe he sucked all the melanin outta Dirk’s body when we popped outta the ectobio labs? Who knows, but y’know what I mean.”

She’s right - Dave’s at least sixteen shades darker than Dirk. Rose is a few darker than Dave. You’re brightass orange, so does it matter?

“What ‘bout you? C’mon, DS, this is bonding time!”

You frown at her, and take a spoonful of soup. “Can I ask why you wanted to hang out, anyways?”

“Like I said,” she says, grinning, “bonding time, baby! Look, we never talk. I wanna fix that. You’re family to me, just as much as Dave or Rose or Dirk. Okay, Dirk’s not actually family, but close enough, he’s like a brother to me. Annoying older brother who doesn’t return my calls… sigh.”

(Yes, she says sigh out loud.)

“Okay. I don’t know why…”

“Because, Davey, you’re like, building concrete walls around your house, figuratively, ‘nd not even letting Jade in! When was the last time you got outta the house?”

“Today.”

“Before that, silly.”

You don’t actually know. “People stare at me, Rox, s’not exactly like I want to get out.”

“Dude, they probably think you’re wearing a sweet cosplay. Like, Dirk got asked if he was cosplaying as Kamina once. Usually people think he’s just cosplayin’ himself, don’t realize he’s the Real Deal, capitals on the r and d, obvs.”

“Obviously.”

“So what if people stare? Strut your stuff, babe! You look great.” She takes your hand again, with softness this time. “I love you, Davesprite. Or Dave. Or DS. Or whatever you wanna be called. You’re my kid, even if it’s just via ectobiology. Mom instincts, y’know? Get out more, get some sun, talk to Jade and Dave and John and Rose more, ok? They love you too.”

You think, for a second, you might cry, but you sniffle instead and pay close attention to the broccoli chunks in your soup. “That means a lot.”

“Y’know what means a lot? The fact that you agreed to come! I had to wrangle deets on stuff you liked outta Dave and Dirk, and can you believe me when I say that was supes tough? They did NOT wanna betray you.”

You laugh this time - for the first time all afternoon - and rest your elbows on the table. “I like history. I like paintings. I like studying art, and I like writing shitty comics that Dave illustrates. We’ve diverged a lot, so I’m not exactly like him…”

“I’d hope not! That’d get boring, hon.” Roxy once again flashes that smile at you, pushing her ombre pink-and-blond hair out of her face with a flourish of one hand. “Just ‘cause you’re partially a Dave doesn’t mean you ARE Dave.”

God does that hit home. “But I feel like -”

“No buts, ok? Nope. We aren’t doin’ that. Your feelings are VALID,” and she points her fork at you (when did she get a fork?), “but we are NOT doing that. Let logic guide you this time, ‘k? And I hope it’s sayin’ that I’m right, that you’re loved, and also awesome. Seriously.”

You start laughing, and you don’t stop for a good few minutes, glancing out the window when you finally recover, only to see the soft fall of snow, starting to slowly blanket the ground outside. “We should probably head out, it’s snowing. But… we could go to my place, I could show you some of the, uh…”

She raises an eyebrow, smiling encouragingly.

“...the art restoration I’ve done, it’s really hard with my talons, but…”

“But I bet it’s great,” says Roxy, and she leans over, plants a kiss on your nose. “Just like _you_.”


End file.
